Wait
by StarBurnedOut
Summary: When Scott starts to get lost in all the pain and negativity of his life, Malia does what she can to help ease his burden.
1. 01

**01**

"Scott." Malia's voice was muted, almost a whisper, and accompanied by the gentle touch of her hand to his shoulder, drawing him from his dark thoughts. Lifting his head, he saw the sadness, the sympathy lining her face as she looked at him. "It's over. We should go."

Her words didn't immediately get through, his mind too muddled to fully grasp her meaning, but when she held out her hand for him to take, he reflexively reached for it, a lifeline in the storm raging internally. She grasped his hand hard, her skin warm against his, and pulled him to his feet. Silent, unresisting, he let her lead him out of the clinic, past an exhausted Deaton, whose shirt was soaked through with blood and God knew what else. Argent was sitting on the floor next to him, slumped down, legs spread, gun discarded carelessly next to him. They both looked defeated, broken, and neither said a word as she led her Alpha away, out into the cool night air.

The ride home was a blur to Scott, the world feeling like it was disconnected, moving by him at a different speed than he was going. He sat in the passenger-side seat next to Malia, head resting against the glass of the window, staring out at nothing, seeing nothing. She never let go of his hand, shooting him worried looks as she drove the familiar streets back to his house.

The McCall home was dark, all lights off when she pulled into the driveway. Moving on autopilot, he opened the door and climbed out, movements slow, mechanical. He didn't even make it around the nose of the car before she was back at his side, her hand in his once again, leading him up the path to the front door. She never paused, retrieving the spare key from under the gnome on the porch without releasing him and letting them both inside. It was empty, silent inside, his mom still at the hospital, probably dealing with the fallout of the missing patient, the man now lying dead on the examination table back at the animal clinic.

"Upstairs."

Her voice was still soft, but firm, commanding, and he hazily did as instructed, too detached from reality in the moment to do anything else. He walked up the steps slowly, boots heavy like they'd been dipped in concrete, each step sounding in his ears like a gunshot. He felt her presence right behind him the entire way, staying close but not touching, just in case, and in a faraway part of his mind he was only vaguely aware of, he felt his affection, his appreciation for her tick up just a little further. But at the moment, he was too far gone, too lost, to really process it.

Into his room they went, and before he could collapse on the bed, he felt her hands fall on his waist, turning him toward his bathroom. "Shower first," she said, directing him toward the door. "You need to wash the blood off."

He didn't resist, letting her guide him forward until he was standing before the shower. Her hands disappeared then, a second before he heard the door close behind them. Then they were back, gently turning him to face her. She didn't look up as her fingers went to work, deftly undoing the buttons of his shirt. At her insistence, he spread his arms, staring blankly over her shoulder as she stripped off the garment and dropped it on the floor, leaving him standing there, naked from the waist up. Dodging around him, she turned on the shower, as he stood there, unmoving, then reclaimed her spot in front of him.

"Scott," she said, reaching out with both hands, resting them on his belt. He could feel the warmth of her skin just millimetres from his own. "Get in the shower. It will help, okay? You'll feel better after. Hey!" Her sharp exclamation jarred him back to reality for a second, and he finally focused on her, eyes meeting hers. "Scott, you need to do this. You need to clean yourself up. Do you understand?" She held his gaze until he nodded jerkily, expression lost but eyes clearer, more aware than they had been. "I'll just be out there."

He waited until she left before he dropped his pants and got under the warm spray. It was hot, scalding, but he didn't even make a sound. He just stood there under the showerhead, letting the powerful spray beat down on his tense back. His body ached all over, every cut and scrape burning under the water, painful reminders that what he'd gone through this night hadn't been entirely emotional. In a way, he was almost glad to feel the sting, the physical pain something he was used to dealing with. He knew it would go away, the cuts would heal. The other, he wasn't so sure.

A brief distraction appeared then in the form of the door opening again. Curious, he looked up, but between the steam and the shower curtain, he couldn't see anything. A second later, the door closed again, and he heard his bed springs squeak, and put the whole thing out of mind.

Only when the water began to turn cold around him did Scott finally shut off the spray. He stood there for a moment, letting the water drip off him, before he climbed out and reached for a towel. As he dried off, he spotted a pair of his sweatpants sitting on the counter, the bloody clothes he'd stripped off nowhere in sight, and felt a little grateful smile tug at his lips.

When he stepped back out into his room, he found Malia sitting cross-legged on his bed, clad in one of his shirts. She took one look at him and beckoned him forward, welcoming him in. He fell into bed beside her, slipping below the covers, and letting her pull him into a powerful embrace. At her insistence, he turned on his side, breathing slowly as he felt her mould herself to his back.

"It'll be okay." Her breath was warm against his neck, just like her body, pressed tight against him. "Get some sleep. Everything's gonna be fine."

Closing his eyes, he let himself slip away, letting himself take comfort in the feeling of her next to him, the steady beat of her heart, the scent that was as familiar to him now as his own. It was almost easy there, in that moment, with her all around him, to focus on her, her face, her smile, her laughter, all his thoughts and memories of her, let that push aside the pain and the hurt. He buried all his negativity in the deepest part of his mind, knowing it wasn't gone, just hidden for now, and accepting that. He could deal with it later, tomorrow, when he wasn't so broken. For now, he had this. He had her. He faded into the blessed numbness of slumber with her face in his mind.

 **-l-l-l-l-**

When Scott awoke, he had no idea how long he'd slept. Sunlight was peeking through his window, soft, muted, but bright enough to make him blink blearily as he swam back to consciousness. All he knew was he was pleasantly warm, his various aches and pain from the night before healed, lost to time.

Gradually, as the fog of slumber drifted away, his memories returned. The fight, the flight, the loss, the pain. He could feel that little ball of darkness he'd pushed away starting to expand, but it was slowed by the dawning realisation he wasn't alone. Malia was still there, still wrapped around him, like she was trying to shield him from the outside world. Just like her presence was helping defend against the threats inside his head. He could feel the solid thrum of her heart against his back, her legs intertwined with his, arms wrapped tight around his midsection, her breathing even, soft and steady in his ear. His guardian.

Struck by a sudden, irresistible urge to see her face, he slowly rolled over, taking as much care as he could not to wake her. Her breathing stuttered slightly as he settled in facing her, but he held still, and after a second, she relaxed back into sleep.

In his new position, he was free to study her sleeping face. He couldn't help but smile softly at the peace he saw there, the lack of fear or worry he'd seen far too much of in her lately. If he had his way, her mind would never be burdened by anything negative ever again. But that was out of his hands. He knew, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that she was going to be with him, stick by his side, no matter how dark things got. She'd proven that already. He couldn't shelter her from any of it, no matter how badly he'd like to, just as she couldn't do for him. All either of them could do was what she had last night, give comfort and brief but necessary relief from the seemingly constant pain. And he would do the same for her every time she needed it, because he knew what he was looking at.

Scott wasn't just looking at Malia. He wasn't looking at the solitary girl he'd taken into his pack. He wasn't looking at the werecoyote he'd brought back to humanity. He wasn't even looking at the girl who'd become one of his closest friends. He was looking at his future, at everything he fought for.

The words that had been dying to get out for weeks, for months, remained unsaid, but the feeling was there and he wasn't fighting it anymore. He'd resisted, at the beginning, worried about hurting their friendship, that maybe she didn't want him like he wanted her. But no more. It was no longer a matter of holding back but rather timing. When the moment came, he'd tell her exactly how he felt, and he had no fear in his heart she would turn him down or run from him. Because he knew her, better than he knew almost anybody. They'd seen each other at their most vulnerable, at their weakest, their smallest, and neither had flinched. That meant something to him, something massive, something world-shaking, and he would bet everything he'd ever owned that it meant the same to her.

He loved her. He knew that. Loved her in a way he'd never loved anyone before. And he'd tell her, sooner rather than later. The moment would come. He would be ready.

For now, he contented himself with reached out and tucking a stray lock of hair behind her ear. She stirred slightly when his hand brushed her cheek, and he slowly drew back as her eyes cracked open. For a moment, neither of them said anything, just looking into each other's eyes and soaking up the new sense of intimacy between them.

"Morning," she finally said, breaking the comfortable silence before it stretched on too long. Her voice was soft, gentle.

"Morning." He was sure his face was about to crack from the smile on it, but in the moment, he couldn't bring himself to care. "Thank you. For last night. For..." He trailed off into a sheepish chuckle. "For putting up with me, I guess. I don't know—I kinda lost it for a little there, and I'm sorry. I'm sorry you had to see that and... and take care of me. You shouldn't have to—"

"Hey, stop," she interjected, cutting him off, arching an eyebrow until he closed his mouth and gestured her to say what she had to say. "I didn't _have_ to do anything. I _chose_ to. Because you needed it. And because I wanted to help. I..." She faded into a silence for a moment and pursed her lips, uncharacteristically hesitant. "I—I care about you, and if I can help you, I'm gonna do it."

"Okay," he said softly, hand finding hers on the bed between them and squeezing softly. "Thank you. For helping. For being here. For... for everything."

Her face lit up with a smile, bright and open and meant only for him. "Any time."

Silence settled between them then, as they just lied there together, warm and comfortable and unable to look away. Scott was sure his feelings were written all over his face, but he was more interested in what he saw on hers. She wasn't subtle, never had been, and as he'd slowly grown aware of his own change in feelings toward her, it became clearer and clearer that things weren't one-sided. But the connection had never been as obvious, as open as it was now. He knew then his moment had come.

There were a couple ways he could have done it. He could have just started talking, confessed his feelings, told her what he wished, what he wanted. He could have worked up to it, tried to get her to say it first, admit what he could see plain as day on her face. But in the end, none of that felt quite right. Instead, he let his instincts take over and did what came naturally.

The kiss started soft, gentle, giving her every opportunity to pull back, to push him away. But she didn't. Lifting her head slightly, she slanted her mouth against his, months of pent-up attraction finally allowed to come out in a single, physical expression. When she suddenly pulled away, breaking contact, he didn't even have time to react before he found himself rolled onto his back. In true Malia fashion, she took control, straddling his waist, her lips finding his again as her hands settled into the pillow on either side of his head.

When they broke apart, she let out a breathless huff halfway between a giggle and a sigh and licked her lips. Scott just beamed up at her, his heartbeat loud in his ears, matching hers as they looked into each other's eyes.

"So..." She arched an eyebrow, the corners of her mouth quirking up in a grin. "How long have you been waiting to do that?"

A little burst of happy laughter escaped him then as he let his head sink back into the pillow. It felt good to laugh after everything that had happened. Almost as good as the lingering tingle of her on his lips, the feeling of her body pressing down on him, of the revelation of what had been hidden for so long.

"Too long," he admitted, unable to keep the elated grin off his face. "Way too long. How about you?"

Instead of replying, she leaned back down and kissed him again. He was only too happy to go along with that, secure in the knowledge that the words would come later. If she wanted to, he'd talk all day. About her. About him. About them. About whatever she wanted. But right now, it just felt right to lose himself in this, in _her_ , before the outside world could creep back in and cast a shadow on the brightness of the moment. So he did, revelling in the feel, the scent, the taste of her and tuning out everything else. None of it mattered. Not right now.

Unfortunately, the world had a way of inserting itself into situations no matter how unwanted it was. In this case, that unwelcome appearance came in the form of a ringing phone. A little preoccupied, neither of them reacted at first. But slowly the sound filtered through the pleasant fog in Scott's mind, drawing him back to reality.

"I guess that's our sign," he said, letting out a weary sigh as Malia pulled back, frowning at his phone as it vibrated on the table next to the bed. Reaching out, she snatched it up, but when he lifted his hand to take it from her, she sat up, holding it just out of his reach. "Malia, come on. It could be—"

"No!" His shrank back into his pillow, caught off-guard by the vehemence in her voice. "You need a break. We all need a break. Look at you. The phone rings and it's like the weight of the world is pressing on your shoulders again." Her eyes were flashing as she spoke, but they softened a second later. "Let's just take a minute for _us_. No fighting. Nobody else. Just you and me and... whatever _this_ is."

For a second he was quiet, just looking up at her. He could see the uncertainty in her eyes, the worry that maybe this didn't mean what she was hoping it did. He knew he should say something, reassure her, but he couldn't. Us, she'd said. The first spoken acknowledgement that they weren't just Scott and Malia anymore, but _Scott and Malia_. And he really liked it.

Giving into the warm feeling building in his chest, he made his move, flipping them over, reversing their positions. She let out a little squeak of surprise, his phone flying out of her hand and clattering to the floor somewhere over near the wall as she found herself on her back, his weight suddenly pressing down on her. He didn't even look, too busy claiming her mouth in a heated kiss, trying to convey without words that whatever fears she had were unfounded. Her hands went to the back of his head, tangling in his hair and pulling him even tighter against her as they moved together, beating back the harsh reality once again.

"Wow," she breathed when he pulled away, leaning his forehead against her shoulder as he fought to catch his breath. "That was..."

"Yeah." He grinned as he lifted his head and met her gaze. "I want to do that again."

"Go ahead."

"No." It was very important to him, essential, that she understand what he meant, that this wasn't just something fun, or a distraction, or anything other than what it was. "I want to do that a lot. This isn't... I don't—I want... _us_." He put as much emphasis on that as he could, willing her to get exactly what he was saying as he fumbled helplessly with his words.

She was silent for a moment, face giving nothing away, before her lips started twitching a little, like she was trying not to smile. "I like the sound of that," she said softly, reaching up to cup the side of his face. They stared into each other's eyes, letting the enormity of the moment sink in, the recognition of what they were about to start.

When his phone suddenly went off again, completely destroying the moment, Malia's expression soured. But Scott could only laugh, too happy, too elated by the morning's developments to be anything other than cheerful. He let his head sink back down against her shoulder, biting his lip as his whole body shook with barely-suppressed mirth.

"I'm gonna throw that thing out the window," she muttered, irritation dripping from every syllable.

Grinning, he lifted his head and shrugged apologetically. "Welcome to my life. As soon as anything happens, somebody calls. If we're gonna do this, you'd better get used to it."

"Oh, we're doing this." There was no hesitation in her voice, only conviction, determination, and he could only smile. Then she frowned. "You should probably answer that."

"Yeah." He could hear the reluctance in his own voice, could feel it in his soul. Once he looked at that phone, their morning was over. The real world was back. The problems and the pressure and everything that came with it. It was so tempting to just ignore it, just stay there in bed with her and pretend things were okay for just a little longer, safe and happy in his room.

Time stretched on as he struggled with himself, and after a minute, she poked his shoulder. "Scott? You gonna check it?"

He heaved a weary sigh, then nodded and slowly rolled off her. As he swung his legs over the side of the bed and reached for the phone, he felt the bed move under him. Looking back, he watched as she rose and stretched, biting back a groan at the way the shirt she'd borrowed slid up with the movement, giving him an enticing peek at what lied beneath it. From the impish grin on her face, he figured she was fully aware of how it looked, what she was doing to him.

"I'm gonna take a shower."

Scott grunted an acknowledgement as he grabbed his phone and looked at it, thumb hovering over the screen, hesitating. He heard her soft footsteps as she padded over to his bathroom, his eyes locked on device in his hand. Just as he took a deep breath, steeling himself to check his messages, something soft collided with the back of his head. Eyes wide, he turned, immediately spotting the shirt she'd been wearing lying on the bed behind him.

Looking up, he found her grinning at him from the bathroom door, unashamedly exposed, an eyebrow arched in challenge. "Want to help wash my back?"

There was no hesitation this time. His phone was tossed on the bed next to the discarded shirt, an afterthought as he quickly made his way to her, to the heaven that awaited him in the next room. He paused in the doorway, and studied her face. There was a lot there, a million emotions, all mirrored in his own expression. For a second, they just looked at each other. Then, she held out a hand, and he grasped it in his own, threading their fingers together and letting her pull him inside.

For just a little longer, the world could wait.

* * *

 _ **AN:** This one was supposed to be a part of a larger story, but it didn't really fit what I was trying to do, so I figured I'd just post it by itself. It ended up turning into a little three-shot. With that in mind, it's a little light on details, but I think it still works for what it is. May have gone a little overboard on the sentimentality, but I don't know, maybe not. We all know what we're here for, right?_


	2. 02

**02**

There was something about watching Malia as she moved around his kitchen, completely at ease, looking at home as she made some coffee, that hit Scott on a real gut-deep level. It wasn't quite the same as watching her when they were together in the shower, or the little glances and shy smiles as they'd pulled on some clothes and made their way downstairs. Those were great, beautiful, but this was different. There was something infinitely satisfying about it, something right, something real.

"What?" She'd picked up on his staring, and turned to face him, hip braced against the counter and a questioning look on her face. "Something wrong?"

"Nope, nothing," he replied, eyes involuntarily scanning her form.

After their shared shower, which had somehow managed to be the most intimate encounter of his life despite the fact they hadn't done much more than kiss and hold each other, they'd put on the same clothes they'd slept in and headed down for some breakfast. Liam's texts had been more about checking up than anything else, so after a quick reassuring reply, they were free to avoid reality for a little longer. He'd taken a seat at the table as she bustled around like she owned the place, very sure of herself, and he couldn't help but watch her work.

"Nothing?" The disbelief on her face and in her tone brought a smirk to his face. Crossing her arms, she arched an eyebrow. "Are you sure?"

His smirk morphed into a grin, and he shrugged sheepishly. "I don't know. I like this." He gestured between them, then around the kitchen. "It feels... good. You know what I mean?"

She was silent for a moment, and he could see the smile tugging at her lips before she nodded. "I do. But don't get too used to it. Pretty sure your mom isn't gonna want me walking around her house like this." She looked down at herself, at the shirt she'd borrowed that barely reach mid-thigh.

"I don't know about that," he said, rising to his feet and starting toward her. She didn't blink or look away from his eyes as he stepped up close, arms falling on either side of her, braced on the counter. "I think she'd understand." His voice dropped an octave as he leaned in close, her head tilting up automatically to keep their eye contact intact. "And technically, we're both adults now. That has to count for something, right?"

"Yeah." The word was barely above a whisper.

Unable to resist any longer, Scott leaned in all the way and kissed her, sinking back into the blissful escape he'd found in her. He felt her arms go around his waist, pulling him insistently against her as she kissed him back, just as eager and involved as he was. They held each other, devoured each other, until the need for oxygen momentarily won out over their need for one another. They just stood there, foreheads touching as they gasped for breath, tried to calm their racing hearts.

A moment later, he felt her hands on his chest, pushing softly but insistently, and pulled back enough to shoot her a questioning look. "Breakfast now," she said softly, nodding toward the table. "More kissing later."

"Or we could keep kissing now and eat later," he suggested.

"No. You need to eat. So do I." She paused, frowning. "With the way things have been going, we could get jumped at any minute. So let's take care of that before anything else happens."

He couldn't help but smile at that, nodding as he backed away and reclaimed his seat at the table. She busied herself as he went back to watching, going through the fridge and coming out with a box of cold pizza left over from dinner two nights ago. It wouldn't have been his first choice, but she was right. He was hungry. As relaxing as his night with her had been, the fight and all the drama that preceded it had taken a lot out of him. So he sat quietly as she popped it in the microwave, then poured two cups of coffee, and brought one over to him.

"Drink."

He obediently sipped from the cup as she grabbed the pizza and her own cup and joined him at the table. She even took a couple slices out of the box and set them down in front of him before taking a seat in the chair directly across from him.

"Hey," he said, unable to keep the amusement out of his tone as she reached for her a slice of her own. "You know you don't have to take care of everything for me, right? That's not..." He sighed and pursed his lips. "That's not your responsibility."

"I know. I want to." She paused to chew a bite of pizza, then shrugged. "I like taking care of you. I mean, somebody has to, right? Not like you can take care of yourself." She shot him a teasing grin, drawing an eye-roll and an amused huff from him. "No, but seriously, it's okay to have people do things for you sometimes, Scott. Last night was... it was rough. On everybody, but especially on you. The people who love you are gonna want to help you out, even just with little stuff like this. And it might as well start with me, since we're... whatever we're doing here now."

"Dating," he supplied helpfully.

She arched an eyebrow, lips twitching, fighting a smile. "Are we? I don't remember you asking me out."

Scott hesitated for a second. He hadn't really considered what label to use for them. The relationship was too new, too overwhelming, too special to put a name to yet. He figured it would come eventually. Hell, he'd gone months with Kira before they were officially anything, and Allison had been happy with 'dating' until something a little more concrete had naturally developed. But Malia was different, and this had been building for awhile. It already felt more adult, more real than his other relationships, and not just because he was older. The connection between them was electric, but it was more than that. They'd spent all night in bed together, and it hadn't been sexual at all. He didn't think he could have predicted that, considering just how attracted to her he was, and that had to mean something, did mean something.

"I don't know," he finally said, voice soft, unsure, as he met her gaze. "I guess we're... a couple?" It came out as more of a question than he'd intended.

She considered that for a moment, rocking her head back and forth. "Together," she finally said. "We're together. How's that?"

"Yeah. Together."

His grin threatened to crack his face, the answering one on hers just as wide. When she raised an eyebrow in silent question a second later, he pushed his chair back a bit, and she quickly rounded the table and slid onto his lap.

That's how his mom found them, a few minutes later, when she stepped into the kitchen. "Oh, hey, wow, morning, guys."

Breaking apart, they both turned and found Melissa standing in the doorway in her dirty scrubs, looking about as tired as Scott could ever remember seeing her. But despite her obvious exhaustion, there was a little smile tugging at her lips as her warm eyes observed them.

Clearing his throat, he shifted a little, feeling a little awkward, but not nearly as embarrassed to be caught in such a position as he would have thought he'd be. He felt Malia start to pull away, and instinctively tightened the grip he had on her waist. He'd already made up his mind. This was a good thing, a bright spot in his life when everything around him was going to hell or drowning in darkness. He wasn't going to try and hide it away from any of his family, his friends. He wasn't going to rob either of them of the opportunity to be together, be open, while they still could. She shot him a quick look, but when his face never changed, she just settled back down on him.

"Hey, mom."

"Morning, Melissa."

Making her way into the kitchen, she dropped her bag on the floor next to the table, then sank into the chair directly across from them. For a second, she just looked at them, a full-blown smile on her face now. "So, how long's this been going on?"

"Not long," Scott said, adjusting the grip he had on Malia's waist as she shifted in his lap, turning to face his mom.

"Like two hours," she clarified.

"Oh, so really new then." Melissa shook her head, her smile morphing into a smirk. "I guess I can understand why you're making out in my kitchen then," she teased, a little surprised when they both just grinned back, not a hint of shame coming from either of them. "All right then. I, uh, well, I think—uh, you know what? Forget about it." She sank back into her chair, leaning her head back as she closed her eyes and rubbed at her temples. "I'd love to give you kids the safe sex speech and just embarrass the crap out of you, but I'm too exhausted. Really long night."

That was all it took to make reality come crashing back down on Scott. It was like the bright sunlight streaming through the window got a little dimmer, as his whole body seemed to shrink in on itself. Tension that hadn't shown itself since he woke up suddenly reared its ugly head, visible in the clenching of his jaw, the darkening of his expression. It was like a reverse of the last twelve hours, as all the happiness, the light he'd built up was suddenly shrinking, pushed aside by the return of the dark, the heavy.

"Did everything—"

Melissa waved him off there, letting out a heavy sigh. "I got everything taken care of. It took some... creative explanations, but I smoothed everything over with the hospital."

"Did you hear about..." He hesitated, reluctant to mention his failure.

The look his mom shot him there, the sympathy he could see in her eyes hit him like a shot to the heart. "Yeah, honey." Her voice was gentle, understanding, and that just made it worse. "Argent stopped by and filled me in. I'm sorry."

Before he could say anything, Malia, feeling the change in his demeanour, the tension, the sadness, turned back around and refocused on him. "Hey," she said softly, draping her arms over his shoulders as she peered into his eyes. "You did everything you could. We all did. We can't save everyone, Scott."

"That doesn't make it any easier," he replied, meeting her gaze.

"No, it doesn't. But that doesn't mean you have to carry everything with you like a hundred pound weight around your neck." Her fingers absently began to play with the hair at the base of his neck, his mother's presence completely forgotten as they looked into each other's eyes. "We're going to win this, Scott. We always do. _You_ always do. Bad things are gonna happen along the way, but you can't let that drag you down like this. I'm not gonna let you."

He didn't even try to fight the grin her words sparked in him, giving into the warmth, the certainty in her eyes, her voice, written all over her face. Once again, his dark thoughts receded, forced to the fringes of his mind by her, her presence, her faith in him.

"You're not gonna let me, huh?"

"Nope," she replied playfully, sensing the brightening of his mood. Leaning in, she pressed a quick kiss to his lips, before pulling back, a bright smile lighting up her face.

"Wow." Both teenagers turned toward Melissa, who was watching them with closely. She locked eyes with Malia and huffed out a little amused breath. "Glad to see there's somebody else who can talk a little sense into him. This," she said, switching her gaze to Scott as she gestured toward the two of them, "I like. Consider it mother-approved, all right? And now I'm going to crash before I pass out right here." Rising, she made her way toward the stairs, only pausing briefly to squeeze his shoulder gently as she passed by him.

Once they were alone, Scott looked at Malia and arched an eyebrow, mirroring the massive grin on her face. "Have I ever told you how much I like your mom?" she asked, and he could hear the happiness in her voice.

"I'd say she likes you too," he murmured, leaning into to kiss her again, soft, sweet. When they parted, he let out a little sigh and drummed his fingers against her waist. "Now, we really should meet with everybody and figure out our next move."

"Scott..."

"Hey, I'm good, don't worry." He smiled reassuringly and reached up to cup her cheek. "You're right. We're gonna get through this, no matter how bad it gets." He felt his jaw clench reflexively as the memory of last night's loss briefly flashed through his mind, but he forced himself to relax, to not dwell on the negative while the positive was so close to him. "But we need to plan. We need to get this handled as soon as possible. Too many people have already been hurt."

She stared into his eyes then, like she was trying to see if he was really all right. Whatever she saw there must have convinced her, because after a moment, she nodded and climbed off him. He followed her to his feet, their hands finding each other, sliding together, neither wanting to give up that physical connection, that newly-established bond just yet.

Malia led the way upstairs, back into his bedroom, where they reluctantly got dressed for the day, dragging out the process as much as they could. As ready as Scott was to get things moving, he was reluctant to leave his house, to step outside of the bubble of the last few hours. He knew things wouldn't really change when they left. The two of them would still be together. She was still his rock, his lifeline, his port in this storm. But it was hard to ignore the symbolism.

"What do you think they'll all say?" he found himself asking, lying on his back on his bed as she dug through his closet for a shirt she could borrow until she could get home.

"I don't know. Nothing, if they're smart. So, expect a bunch of dumb jokes from Stiles and Liam." He snorted at that, a second before she suddenly appeared in his vision, smoothing the wrinkles out of the shirt she'd donned. "And Lydia already knows. What do you think?"

"Looks better on you than it does on me."

Reaching up, he caught her around the waist, pulling her down across him. She let out a little squeak of surprise, but quickly adjusted, sinking willingly into a long, leisurely kiss that left them both a little breathless and flushed.

As they lied there, letting their racing hearts calm, her words suddenly sank into Scott's mind. "Hey, wait. What do you mean Lydia already knows?"

Raising up, straddling his waist, she blew her hair out of her face and shrugged. "I mean, she'd doesn't _know_. I haven't told her yet, obviously. I don't even have my phone with me. But she's not blind, Scott. She figured out I was into you, like, a month ago. We talked about you, actually."

"You talked about me?" He tried to sit up, but she stopped him with a hand on his chest. "I... what, uh, what did you say?"

"Wouldn't you like to know?" she teased in a sing-song voice as she slid off him and rose to her feet.

"Yeah, I would," he replied as he let her pull him up alongside her. She started toward the door, dancing out of reach when he tried to grab her hand and flashing a grin before she disappeared into the hallway. Shaking his head, he let out an amused sigh and followed her down the stairs. "Come on, Malia. I really want to know."

"Well, that's too bad, because I'll never tell."

She was leaning against the wall next to the door, watching him approach with a little smirk on her face. He paused before her, and reached out for her hand. "I know what you're doing."

"Oh?"

"You're trying to distract me." Leaning in, he gave her a quick kiss, then leaned back to smile down at her. "Thank you."

"I don't know what you're talking about." But she squeezed his hand gently before she turned and reached for the doorknob. Sunlight flooded over them as it opened, revealing a day that seemed entirely too bright considering what was going on in Beacon Hills. Looking at him, she cocked an eyebrow in question. "Ready?"

"As I'll ever be."

* * *

 _ **AN:** Part two of whatever this is. The characterisation is a little loose on this one, but it is what it is. Turns out having a vague threat hanging over the whole story is actually harder to work with than a specific one, because you want to keep adding in little details, but that sort of goes against the point._


	3. 03

**03**

When it was all over, she found him.

Scott was standing in the center of the clearing where he'd found the enemy. His face was streaked with blood, both his own and not, accumulated through the hard fighting he'd been forced to go through just to reach his target. At his feet was the body of the one who'd started all this, the one who'd done everything he could to destroy Beacon Hills and kill everyone who lived there. The one who'd ultimately failed. He was gone, dead by his own hand, a wolfsbane-laced bullet to the temple bringing a complete and absolute end to the fear, the pain, the death he'd tried to spread, to inflict.

Conflicted. That was the best way he could describe how he was feeling. He had seen death, and it wasn't the first time, but it was never something he'd be comfortable with. The sudden cessation of life, abrupt and violent and right in front of him was something that was going to stick with him for a long time. But it also meant the fight was over. They'd won. He hadn't had to cross that line, become a killer, something he'd been thinking about more and more as time went on. But was this better? That question had his mind in turmoil as he stood over his fallen foe, stationary, frozen.

"Scott."

He didn't respond to his name, eyes locked on the corpse before him. He'd caught Malia's scent the second she'd stepped into the clearing, heard her soft approach, the slight catch in her breath when she realised what he was staring at, but he couldn't look away.

When she stepped up behind him, her arms going around his waist, hands pressing tight against his stomach, the sudden warmth, the human contact drew him from his chaotic thoughts. He leaned back into her, clasping his hands over hers, and finally closed his eyes, letting her presence help him drown out the anguish, the pain of the night.

"Are you all right?" she murmured.

"Are you?"

He could smell the blood on her, the anger, the lingering fear in her scent, fading but still there, a stark reminder of how difficult the fight had been. It made his hair stand on end, made him want to find whoever hurt her and show them just how massive a mistake they'd made. It was a powerful urge, but not as powerful as the need he felt to just stand there and continue to let her hold him.

"I'm okay. Tired, sore, but okay." He felt her forehead come to rest on his back, then the relief in her voice, nearly buried under the exhaustion. "We did it. We won."

"Never any doubt, right?" he asked dryly, as he slowly turned in the circle of her arms, his own hands going to her waist.

"None."

The word was said with such conviction, such fervent belief it caught him off-guard. He'd been joking, thinking about his own doubts over the last few weeks, all the times he'd almost given up hope. Even tonight, after giving his best attempt at a motivational speech for the others, rallying the troops for one last desperate push, he'd been uncertain and more frightened than he could ever remember being before. But now, looking in her eyes, he could see the faith there, the faith in _him_. She'd been there with him through it all, had seen him stumble, only just hanging on, only just keeping it together, and her belief in him hadn't wavered at all.

Overcome by that loyalty, that unshakable trust, Scott couldn't help but kiss her. It started off slow, soft, but quickly turned hard, mouths slanting against one another, all that leftover adrenaline from a hard-fought battle finding a new outlet and taking full advantage. Hands, fingers tangled in hair and clothing, bodies pressed together in a visceral expression of all they were feeling, relieved and triumphant and free. Free to be as they were, young and in love, without a threat hanging over their heads or darkening their thoughts. There would be something else, some new issue to crawl inside their minds and turn the light to dark before too long, because there always was. But not now, not yet. Right now, it was just about the only thing that mattered. Her and him. _Them_.

When they parted, no words were said. She just smiled that soft little smile that was only for him, fingers intertwining with his, and led him out of the clearing, away from the body, the conflict, the war. It was quiet, surrounded by just the trees and the night, peaceful.

"Is everybody else all right?" He felt a little flash of guilt even as he asked the question. He should have asked sooner. It should have been the first thing he'd asked, would have been under almost any other circumstances.

Malia squeezed his hand reassuringly. "They're fine. They're beat up, but they're fine. Liam got cut up pretty bad, but he'll heal."

The relief he felt in that moment was intense, profound. He would never have voiced it to them, never would have played with their self-confidence like that, but he'd been worried going into the night that not all of his friends were going to pull through. They were just up against too much, the odds seemingly insurmountable. It was part of why he'd waited so long to call his shot, exhausting every other potential move before finally giving into the inevitable.

Scott wasn't sure how long they walked, but eventually the trees began to thin, as they neared the area where the fight had started, a large clearing connected to the main road by a narrow dirt path. He hadn't lingered there long upon arriving, pursuing the leader deeper into the woods in an attempt to end things before they could really start, trusting his friends, his pack to do what they always did, to handle the rest and let him do what had to be done.

Stepping out of the trees and into the clearing, he froze, eyes scanning from left to right, taking in the sight. It really did look like a warzone, emphatically driving home just how close they'd all come to annihilation that night. Bodies littered the ground, some conscious, and others clearly not. The humans had been rounded up and restrained, face down, hands cuffed behind their backs. The supernaturals were similarly subdued, the powerful sedative Deaton had cooked up keeping them under as an extra layer of security until they figured out what to do with them. The unmistakable scent of blood hang heavy in the air, blanketing the entire area, almost enough to turn his stomach. It was something he was sure he'd never forget, an unpleasant memory, an upsetting scene that would stick with him for the rest of his life.

"Scott!"

Stiles' shout seemed to be the cue for everyone to started moving. They all gathered in the center of the clearing, bloody and battered but still standing tall, victorious. The former hunter, eyes bright and aware despite his bruises. The Banshee, limping and frazzled, but unbent, arm in arm with her excited boyfriend. The Hellhound, shirtless and covered in ash, standing shoulder to shoulder with the exhausted Sheriff. The Beta werewolf, his torso awash in his own blood, but a wide grin on his face as he looked at his Alpha.

Looking around at all those faces, all those people, tired and beaten but unbowed, Scott felt prouder than he ever had before. His pack had proven once again that they could withstand any threat, could stick together and protect their home, each other. They were the best friends he could have asked for. No, they were more than that.

Fighters. Survivors. Family.

 **-l-l-l-l-**

Scott led the way inside his house, Malia's hand warm and soft in his. The second he stepped through the door, his mom was there, pulling him into a powerful embrace. He could help but smile as he wrapped his free arm around her, holding her close while she squeezed him tight, reassuring herself he was all right. Over her shoulder, he caught Argent's eye, getting a wink and a nod from the former hunter.

"Oh, honey," she said a second later, hands moving to his shoulders as she pulled back so she could look up at him, eyes scanning his face, making sure he was okay. "Are you all right?"

He could see the relief on her face, a welcome change from the worry and fear he'd seen there almost every time he'd looked at her over the last few weeks. He knew how it weighed on her, all the trouble he had to deal with, all the danger, the possibility that one of these times, he wouldn't come home. A part of him wished it could be different, it could be easier, but he also knew she was proud of him, of how he fought for what was right even when it would be easier to pass that responsibility on to someone else, to bury his head in the sand and pretend things were still normal. It was part of why he continued to fight, to keep trying to be the man she'd raised him to be.

"I'm fine, mom," he said, clasping a hand over hers and flashing her a soft smile. "We all are."

At that, her eyes moved from him to the girl standing at his side. Before either of them could react, she moved to her and pulled her into an equally-crushing hug. Malia turned wide eyes on Scott, who just grinned and shrugged. After a second of standing rigid, she relaxed into the embrace, her free arm coming up and patting Melissa's shoulder.

"It's okay," she said awkwardly, "everybody's okay. It's over."

That was true. The clean-up had gone a lot smoother than Scott was anticipating. The humans had been carted off by Stilinski and Parrish, hit with every weapons-related charge they could come up with, and handed off to the FBI. Once the sedative had worn off for the supernaturals, they'd been given the choice to either rot in Eichen House or leave town and forget about everything that happened there. As a group, they'd chosen the latter, none expressing much interest in staying in town now that their leader was dead and there was nothing left for them there. He had done what he could to encourage that decision, drawing on his authority as an Alpha to make it clear exactly what would happen if they ever returned.

Stiles had wanted to celebrate after, still high on the adrenaline, but he'd been soundly voted down by the rest of the group. Instead, he and Lydia ended up taking Liam to Deaton just to make sure he wasn't in any danger from his wounds, then headed home to rest.

Scott had stuck around with the Sheriff, unwilling to leave until he was sure the threat was completely taken care of, all the pieces removed from the board. Malia refused point-blank to leave his side when he suggested she go get some sleep, so they'd gone to the police station while Argent went to let his mom know they'd come out on top, everybody was going to be okay, and they'd be home soon. Only once everything was settled, once they were sure it was really over, did the pair finally make their way back to the McCall house.

"All right," Melissa said, stepping back and putting her hands on her hips. "You two go get cleaned up. I'm gonna order some pizza, because I think we could all use some food and I am in no mood to cook. Go on, get going." She shooed them towards the stairs, and they went willingly, both eager to clean off the dried blood and dirt caked to them.

Inside his room, Scott closed the door softly, then leaned his forehead against it, letting out a weary sigh. Other than those brief moments after she'd found him, held him, he'd refused to relax, holding himself up because he was the leader, the Alpha, and he needed to be strong for his pack. But here, now, safe in his room, away from the world, he could finally let himself take a breath and be human, be the exhausted teenager he was underneath it all. He didn't even move when he heard the floor creak behind him, felt Malia's hands come to rest on his shoulders. He just pressed his eyes shut, taking deep, shuddering breaths as the effort, the full impact of the night finally washing over him.

"Scott," she said softly after a minute, hands squeezing gently, letting him know she was there with him. "It's okay. We're okay." He let out a little grunt, not trusting himself to speak yet. "Come on, your mom was right. We need to get these wounds cleaned up." Her voice changed then, taking on a note of challenge, almost an invitation. "I'll wash yours if you'll wash mine."

At that, a little smile slowly spread across his face. After the night they'd had, everything they'd gone through, anybody else and he would have found it a little inappropriate. But that was Malia, and he couldn't help but cheer up when she said things like that. Slowly, he straightened up, turning around, meeting her eyes. She arched an eyebrow as their gazes met and held out her hand. Without hesitation, he grasped it, willingly letting her pull him across the floor, into the bathroom. Neither of them broke eye contact once he closed the door, stripping down to their underwear silently, quickly, baring skin and wounds, physical reminders of a battle that could have killed them both, a battle they'd survived.

For a moment, they just looked at each other, taking stock of their respective injuries, completely open. He was pretty sure he knew her body better than his own at this point, and it irked him more than a little to see the cuts, the blood decorating it. But a part of him couldn't help but see it differently. They weren't just wounds, they were badges of honour, proof of her strength, her ability to withstand so much, what she was willing to go through for the town, the pack, for _him_.

Malia was the first to move, to break the stillness, stepping forward suddenly and reach for him, gently tracing a fingertip over a long scratch on his neck. "Claws," he said, voice husky, divining the question in her actions from the look on her face.

His hand came up then, ghosting over a deep scrape on her left arm. "Arrow," she revealed, shivering at his light touch. He raised an eyebrow, then dropped his hand to her side, hovering over a bloody groove just above her hip. "Bullet." She paused, frowning. "I think. I don't know. Things were kind of crazy out there."

Scott chuckled softly, his other hand falling on her other hip as he leaned forward, touching his forehead to hers. "You know, this is all kinds of mess up. You were shot. I was stabbed." He felt her fingers brush against the deep gash in his abdomen, no longer bleeding but still stinging sharply hours later. "Most people don't have to deal with this kind of stuff. Could you imagine that? Do you ever wonder about our lives, about how different they could've been if Peter never bit me?"

"No, not really. I mean, I'd probably still be a coyote. Or, y'know, _dead_. I never would have met any of you." Pulling back, she looked into his eyes, a little smile playing around her lips. "And I wouldn't be able to do this."

Reaching up, she locked her hands behind his head and pulled him into a bruising kiss, crushing her lips against his. He could feel the intensity in it, the passion, the _love_. And he knew in that moment that he would never give this up for anything. It didn't matter how hurt he was, how hard it had been to get here, what they'd both had to do along the way. If he could go back and do it all over again, he'd make the same choices, follow the same path that led him to this moment, to _her_. He'd change some things, save some people he'd failed, do some things sooner, but in the end, this was where he wanted to be, where he always wanted to end up.

What followed from there was a new experience. They'd had sex before, but this time, things felt different. That looming danger was gone. They weren't going to die tomorrow. Their friends were safe. There were no outside worries, no distractions, just the feel, the taste, the presence of each other. If anybody has asked, Scott wouldn't have been able to put words to exactly what the difference was, how it manifested. He would have just said things weren't quite the same. They were brighter somehow, sharper, more defined. The exhaustion, the discomfort faded into the background as they expressed their love physically. Hands trailed over wounds, grasping, caressing, and it didn't matter, the pain ignored, pushed aside, lost in their passion.

When it was over, they leaned against each other, breathing labored, hearts racing, and Scott was sure it was the most perfect moment in his life. "I love you," he whispered. It wasn't the first time he'd said it, but as much as he'd meant it all those other times, he'd never meant it as much as he did then.

Malia was quiet for a second, then huffed out a little breath. "I love you too." Slowly, she pulled back, not so subtly directing him toward the shower. "And now we really should get cleaned up. Before your mom comes up here looking for us." He snorted at that, but willingly went along with her, following her into the shower.

As the hot water cascaded down around them, washing away the blood, the dirt, the sweat, Scott found himself wondering what was next for them. He didn't want to think too far ahead, at least not yet. In a few days, when everything settled, when normalcy—or what passed for it—set back in, he knew he'd have a clearer view. There was still too much tainting his mind, his outlook, to have a clear picture of what was to come. There were too many variable, too many what ifs, too many maybes to be sure of the future.

There was only one thing he was sure of. Malia. He was sure of her. He was sure that when he finally crawled into bed tonight, she'd be with him. He was sure he'd wake up tomorrow and she'd be there. He was sure that no matter what happened next, good or bad, she'd be by his side. And he was sure, more sure than he'd ever been of everything in his life, that she was all he needed. Everything else would sort itself out. They'd face it together.

* * *

 _ **AN:** That's it for this one. I debated doing a chapter between the previous and this one showing how everybody reacted to Scott and Malia getting together, but I decided to save that for a different story. Obviously, I sort of just glossed over a lot of the details in this one, because the conflict was just the back-drop for what I was actually doing here. Same thing for the after-battle meeting of the pack. I had to include a little, because how could I not? But that wasn't the focus of the story, so I kept it short._


End file.
